Order of the Phoenix
by Zowe
Summary: In Harry's fifth year the loyalty of many people at Hogwarts is brought in to question. By Bink and Zowe.


"Harry!!!"  
  
Harry Potter winced as his rather large uncle bellowed in his ear. "What, Uncle Vernon?" he asked, half terrified. He did not want to be locked in his room again.  
  
Uncle Vernon bloated like a bullfrog, his face as purple as the blouse his prying wife was ironing. He slammed a huge, fat hand down on the kitchen table. His son Dudley yelped as half his orange juice spilled onto his adipose lap.  
  
"You got a letter from that--from that school you go to," Uncle Vernon spluttered menacingly. "How dare they send things here!"  
  
Harry brightened. He absolutely loved his school—Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry—because Harry was no normal boy, but a wizard, and a rather good one at that. Of course, his aunt and uncle and cousin disliked anything to do with magic—and Harry, too, for that matter. Harry luckily only had to spend summers with the Dursleys.  
  
"Well, may I have my letter then," Harry asked. "I was just about to write my godfather, so if it's good news I can tell him about it."  
  
At the mention of Harry's godfather, Uncle Vernon shrank back, tossing the letter onto Harry's breakfast plate. "I guess you can have the letter--this time," he said, shaking visibly.  
  
Smiling, Harry privately thanked his godfather. His godfather was Sirius Black, and although Harry's relatives did not learn the name, they did know that Sirius was an escaped criminal. He had been imprisoned for betraying Harry's parents—leading them to their deaths—and for killing thirteen innocent Muggles, but neither of these were true. Sirius had been Harry's father's best friend, would never deliver him to harm, and was framed for the death of those thirteen people. Of course, Harry purposely never told his relatives that Sirius was innocent. The slightest mention of his godfather frightened the Dursley's, so Harry was occasionally treated better than a nobody in fear that Sirius would go for them. "Now if you'll excuse me," he said, "I'm going to my room to read my letter."  
  
Uncle Vernon grumbled something unintelligible and Harry ran upstairs. He shut the door behind him (unfortunately it only locked from the outside) and sat on his bed. Ripping open the envelope, he began to read the yellowed parchment inside:  
  
Dear Mr. Potter,  
  
At Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry you are now entering your fifth year. At this time, two fifth years from each house—Gryffindor, Hufflepuff, Ravenclaw and Slytherin—are chosen to become prefects. The decisions are based on academic achievement and pure talent. Due to these guidelines, you have been selected as one of the two Gryffindor prefects.  
  
At Hogwarts Express on September 1, you are expected to ride in the first cart with the other fifth year prefect. Right before the Sorting Ceremony, the new prefects will gather in a side room to be instructed on responsibilities for the upcoming year.  
  
A list of books and your prefect badge for next year is enclosed. Hope your holiday goes well.  
  
Yours Sincerely,  
  
Minerva McGonagall  
  
Minerva McGonagall,  
  
Deputy Headmistress  
  
Staring at the letter, Harry slowly came out of his shock. He was a prefect? How did that happen? Not that he wasn't excited or pleased about the whole idea, it just was completely unexpected and unbelievable. He dropped the letter, and out fell the prefect badge. Suddenly, Harry beamed and jumped up. "Hedwig, did you hear that," he cried to his pet owl, "I'm a prefect! They actually think I'm a good wizard! Can you believe that?"  
  
Hedwig hooted in an unperturbed reply, then ruffled her feathers. Well, at least his friends would be happier for him, especially since he had been so down and out before...  
  
Harry sat rigid on his bed, suddenly upset instead of overjoyed. Cedric Diggory had been a prefect, too. And Cedric was dead, partly due to Harry. Harry had tried hard not to let this upset him, but that didn't abate the horrible knowledge that Cedric wasn't able to enjoy anything anymore except the oblivion of death. And at the end of last year, Harry had been very distraught by this thought. If only he had been selfish and not let Cedric win, but there was no way either of them could have known the outcome.  
  
Pushing these thoughts aside, Harry grabbed an ink well and quill and some parchment. He had hardly started composing a letter to Sirius to tell him the news when a small ball came shuttling through his open window.  
  
But it wasn't a ball. It was a small energetic owl—Pigwidgeon, his best friend Ron's pet. Harry removed the letter from Pig's beak. After giving the owl some water (while Hedwig watched, pestered by the vivacious Pig), Harry ripped open the envelope.  
  
Hello Harry!  
  
How's your vacation going? Oh, well terrible I'd gather, considering you have to be with those horrid relatives. Everyone says hello. Fred and George want to know HOW you put up with those abominable Muggles. And they want to say thank you (they refused to tell me why, but said you'd know. Want to give me a hint?) They even badgered Mum into letting me get new dress robes, and paid for it themselves! That means no lace!  
  
  
  
Harry laughed. A few weeks ago he had given Fred and George the winnings of the Triwizard Tournament. He wanted the twins to work on their magical jokes and inventions. People desperately needed to laugh, what with Voldemort coming back into power. Voldemort was a horrible Dark Arts wizard: no person who ever dueled or stood up to the warlock ever lived—except for Harry.  
  
Anyway, my father got a raise! He won't tell me why, unless he doesn't even know himself. And, we are going to visit Charlie in Romania all summer, so you can't come over this year. Sorry. Maybe you can talk to Hermione. Since her parents are Muggles, maybe your uncle will let you stay with them. Isn't it odd how they hate you and anything magic-oriented but never let you go anywhere once your home? Don't you think they'd want you gone somewhere at the beginning of summer. Well, in any case, I won't be going to Diagon Alley this year-- Mum's going to get my stuff (even the robe—she promised no frills), so I'll meet you at the train on September 1.  
  
Have a great vacation (if you can). Happy early birthday, by the way. I'll send you your present later.  
  
Ron  
  
"Good job Ron," Harry murmured.  
  
He couldn't think of a single family who deserved a raise more than the Weasley's. They were poor, but the friendliest and nicest of families he'd ever met. Since Harry hadn't yet written anything to Sirius, he decided to reply to Ron right then. Still smiling over Ron's good luck, Harry began answering the letter.  
  
Ron—  
  
I'm so glad for you. Maybe while you're in Romania you can check up on Norbert for Hagrid. Have fun there.  
  
In their first year, the gamekeeper at Hogwarts, monster-loving Hagrid, had hatched a dragon egg dubbed Norbert. Norbert wasn't allowed to stay at Hogwarts, so he had been sent to Charlie (who studied dragons) in Romania.  
  
Sorry, I can't tell you what Fred and George are thankful for, but tell them I say It Was Nothing. Its sort of an inside joke.  
  
Oh! And I have news, too. Don't ask me how, but I'm a prefect! I'm not totally sure what that entails, but I'm sure you do, what with Percy and Bill and all. Give me a head's up if you can, will you? Don't worry, I doubt I'll be too busy to hand with you—why wouldn't I?  
  
Congratulations about your father. I'll see you at Hogwarts Express, and I'll write you later.  
  
Harry  
  
Harry folded up the letter, carefully creasing the edges so as not to rip the brittle parchment.  
  
"Here, Pig," he said, placing the letter in the owl's beak, "bring this back to Ron." He nearly laughed: the image of the tiny owl carting a letter three times its size was quite comical. Pig stretched his wings, and after a shrill hoot, zoomed out the window; Harry watched the owl until he couldn't see it anymore. He then sat down to finally write to Sirius.  
  
Sirius—  
  
I hope everything has been going right for you. I know you're supposed to be contacting people for Dumbledore, so I'm not really sure where you'll get this. If you are still with Lupin, give him my regards. I wish he could teach again.  
  
Lupin—Remus Lupin—had been another of James and Lily Potter's friends. During Harry's third year, Lupin had taught Defense Against the Dark Arts, but had to leave due to the fact that he was a werewolf. Nevertheless, he probably was one of the best Defense Against the Dark Arts professors Hogwarts had seen, and a good friend of Harry's.  
  
I thought you'd like to know that things are going all right here. Ron is going to be away all summer in Romania, so unless there's a miracle, I will be stuck here. I think that's what you guys want anyway, so you know I'm safe. At least you'll know where to find me. I haven't seen signs of Voldemort since I left Hogwarts Express, and certainly haven't felt any twinges with my scar, so I gather I'm fine for now.  
  
Another thing. I'm a Gryffindor prefect. Someone in the school must have thought me capable of more responsibilities.  
  
I'll talk to you later.  
  
Harry  
  
Harry walked over to Hedwig's cage. She nipped his hand affectionately and looked up at him expectantly.  
  
"Yes, you get to deliver a letter," he said, handing her the note. "I'm sure you can find Sirius; you always do." With an air of importance, Hedwig hopped out of the cage and flew out the window.  
  
Uncle Vernon's deep voice drifted up the stairs into Harry's room. "HARRY!" he shouted. "Get down here! You need to do your chores; we have guests tomorrow!"  
  
"Coming, Uncle Vernon," Harry called, tossing his ink and quill into his trunk. "Coming." And he ran down the stairs.  
  
  
  
Later that night, the Dursley's were all sitting in the living room quietly discussing Dudley's future school year, when there came an unexpected jarring noise. The telephone blared in the relatively still house. Uncle Vernon shoved his body out of the sofa, and waddled over to the phone.  
  
"Hello," he said, sounding impatient. "Who's this?"  
  
All of a sudden, his face turned red and he started spluttering. His eyes darted over to where Harry was standing, dusting the end table. Clenching his fist as tightly as he could, Uncle Vernon began spluttering as he always did when magic was mentioned.  
  
"No you may not, Hermes-or-whoever-you-are!" Uncle Vernon crashed his fist onto the table. "You certainly may not speak to Harry. Not you or any of your kind! Ever!" With a quick and clumsy movement, the phone was slammed back into its base. He rounded on Harry. "That was y-your friend Gr-Gr-Granger," he shrieked. "I don't know what's your business with these phone calls but they're going to end right now!"  
  
The phone cord was yanked from the electrical outlet. There was a smug expression on Uncle Vernon's face as Harry slipped upstairs to his room.  
  
  
  
A week later, Harry woke up as he felt something jerk on his ear. "What?" he asked groggily, pulling on his glasses. Hedwig was perched on his bedpost, surveying a pile of presents. Glancing over at his clock, Harry saw it was only seven in the morning. And realized that he had been fifteen for seven hours already. "Wow," he whispered, and reached for the closet gift. It was from Hagrid. The card simply said, "Happy Birthday Harry," so he ripped open the bulky package.  
  
It was a tin of treacle fudge, and an assortment of other treats. Harry simply hoped that Hagrid hadn't baked them all: he had a reputation for, well, odd eating habits.  
  
There was a whole assortment of gifts from the Weasleys. Fred and George had sent a handful of their inventions: there was some Explode-a- gum, a few Purple Teasers (which turned the person a brilliant lilac), and other gags. There was an accompanying note saying, "Have fun!" Ginny included a wand holder that she made herself (it was all covered in flowers and hearts), and Mr. and Mrs. Weasley baked a birthday cake and a hand-knit blanket. Ron sent his congratulations about becoming a prefect and three books: The Chudley Cannons the Champions about his favorite Quidditch team (the wizarding sport); Know the Signs about Dark Art followers; and Creatures of Night and Day regarding magical beings.  
  
Harry smiled. He didn't know what help the books would do him, but they'd at least be interesting to leaf through. Reaching for another gift, he saw a large envelope from Sirius and Lupin. Tearing it open, he saw a blank parchment—the Marauder's Map. It was a map designed by his father and his friends that showed every passageway of Hogwarts, and whomever was in it, and where. He had assumed it was gone forever—the Defense Against the Dark Arts professor had borrowed it indefinitely the year before. Pleased to see it back, he read the letter.  
  
Harry—  
  
While at the school last year, I came upon this in Professor Moody's office. It's rightfully yours. I haven't had time to find you something meaningful for a gift, so I will make it up to you some other time.  
  
I'm pleased to hear you're a prefect. Your parents both were, too—it must run in the family. You will do fine, I know you can handle whatever comes your way. You've done it before; you'll do it again.  
  
Just to warn you, be careful this year. There's no point in telling you why—you know firsthand. As long as you stay in school, with Professor Dumbledore, you'll be relatively safe.  
  
Have a good rest of the vacation. Stay in contact.  
  
Sirius  
  
"I'll be fine," Harry said, and set aside the letter. Everyone was telling him to "be careful"; it got annoying after awhile, even though he knew they were only concerned and protective. To stop thinking about it, he picked up the last gift: it was cushiony bundle from Hermione.  
  
Happy Birthday Harry! I really am truly sorry about the phone call. I figured that since I knew how to use a telephone, he wouldn't chew me down so fast. By the way, I got the number from Ron last year. A lot of good it did either of us.  
  
Guess what? I'm a prefect, too! Ron told me the great news before he left for Romania. Can you believe it! Of course, it wasn't that much of a surprise, considering I'm first in our class and all, but it still is exciting. I wonder if we'll be assigned more homework for extra diligence. I already have done all my work for the summer. Perhaps while he is in Romania, Ron could acquire certain books about dragons for me. I wish I could go, too! I love to travel.  
  
  
  
Well, as it's your birthday, I hope you have a good time. If not, well, I will see you soon  
  
Love,  
  
Hermione  
  
Hermione was right. It was no shock that she was the other Gryffindor prefect. She was clever and studious, and any grade below perfect score was rare for her. Wondering what Hermione could have possibly have gotten him, he tore open the present. It couldn't be a book; the package was too lumpy and bendable.  
  
"My gosh, Hermione!" Harry looked on unbelieving: she had gotten him clothes. Unlike the clothes he normally wore, they were his size. Normally he tromped around clad in the old, dilapidated, second-hand clothes of Dudley, which had to be tightly belted at all times. But these clothes—not only were they his size, but they were of good quality and new. Grinning broadly, Harry donned the clothes, and ran downstairs to breakfast.  
  
  
  
Aunt Petunia was stirring some eggs as Harry walked into the kitchen. As he sat down, she glanced over at him as if he was unrecognizable, frowned, and turned back to preparing some sort of omelet for her son. She slapped two soggy pieces of bread on a plate and threw them at Harry. Dudley stared at Harry, squinting his eyes with a perplexed expression on his face, then said, "Those weren't my clothes."  
  
"They wouldn't be, now would they," Harry replied. "These would never have fit you. Well, they might be if they were put on one of your legs."  
  
Harry wished he had a camera with him. The look on Dudley's face made him appear to be an ape—a very confused, fat, stupid ape! However, his moment of fun was nearly dearly paid for: Uncle Vernon's face twisted like a prune and he was opening his mouth to yell when the doorbell rang. His eyes shone with icy hatred as he said, "Get…the…door. Now!"  
  
To escape confrontation, Harry slipped out of his chair and out the kitchen. He jogged to the door and yanked it open.  
  
There were three figures standing in the doorframe. His jaw dropped.  
  
"Hello, Harry," Hermione said. 


End file.
